


Never Let Them See You Sweat

by endemictoearth



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Gen, fat girl bylaws, shopping while fat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endemictoearth/pseuds/endemictoearth
Summary: Just a little something born out of some of my own long-held frustrations, and the fact that Rae is prone to outbursts, this was meant to be funny, but then some realness crept in around the edges. So, hopefully, it’s both funny and real.It’s sort of an alternative to series 2 episode 3; you’ll see.





	Never Let Them See You Sweat

**Author's Note:**

> (I don't know how I missed posting this one! I was going through my archive on Tumblr, and had almost forgotten I wrote this. I remember it was very cathartic to write, hopefully it will be just as cathartic to readers!)

Since joining in with Stacey’s group, Rae had started sitting with them at lunch. She always made sure to have a little something on her tray, as pointedly not eating drew as much attention as a tray full of pies. If anyone did say anything about her not eating, she could always say her stomach was off, or she was dieting. People never questioned that she should be on a diet.

It was a distraction. Keeping up a facade was second nature to Rae, far easier than being herself ever was. Maybe that was the real reason she broke it off with Finn. He could always see her, even when she didn’t want to be seen. But with these girls … apart from Chloe, she didn’t even like any of them. She could just say what she thought they wanted to hear and skate along.

Or so she thought …

Stacey put down her can of Diet Coke daintily, the one she’d made Chloe get her from the vending machine, and cast a regal glance around the table. It was clear to Rae that Stacey fancied herself the queen of table, college royalty, empress of all that the overhead fluorescent lights touched. Inwardly, Rae rolled her eyes, but gritted her teeth and kept up her front, smiling and staying quiet.

It was too hot, though. She was wearing her leather jacket at the table; she wore it as much as she could. It was her literal armor, lending her both an undeniable cool factor and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. But if she didn’t take it off soon, she’d start sweating at the table and that would  _not_  be good. It was in the Fat Girl Bylaws: Never let ‘em see you sweat. So, as surreptitiously as possible, Rae shrugged off her jacket and laid it carefully over her backpack, next to her on the bench. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d worn her Oasis shirt, but she needed to do laundry, and thought she’d take a chance.

Nothing escaped Stacey’s imperious gaze, however, and in a loud, clear voice, she asked, “Why d’ya always wear band shirts, Rae? Is that, like, all you own?”

The table grew quiet and everyone looked at Rae; apprehension swelled around them. Rae’s eyes had instinctively widened in shock. But after the initial surprise, a dull inevitability emerged. She was stupid to have thought she could suffer these fools for long. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb. Chloe leaned forward instinctively to pat her arm, but pulled her hand back before making contact, in case that made her feel worse. The few seconds of silence stretched out, everyone aching for it to be filled.

Chloe was actually a little worried Rae might be crying. She cleared her throat, about to defend her friend, when Rae beat her to the punch. Her voice was low and slow and steady, which was a little unusual for her. “You want to know … why I wear band shirts. You want to know if that’s all I own.” She exhaled, her breath deliberately long and even. Something inside her had snapped. If she couldn’t even take off her jacket without a bloody interrogation, this wasn’t fucking worth it.

Ever since she’d tried to fit in with that knock-off top, she decided to just dress how she dressed and hope that nodding and smiling would carry the day. But suddenly, and surprising even to herself, she was  _over_  going along to get along. “Stacey, can I just ask, have you ever  _been_  to the plus-size section of any store recently? No? That could be because most stores don’t even HAVE a section for sizes over 14. Which is wonderful, really. Because I already feel like my mere existence is a problem for most people, but the stores have figured it out … JUST PRETEND I  _DON’T_  EXIST.”

Stacey wasn’t used to anyone showing offense at her words. She enjoyed making little digs, and watching her friends squirm. She’d just meant to make a joke, get a laugh. So, she shook her head and tried to take the tone of reason. “You know that’s not—“

Rae cut her off. No one ever cut her off. “Oh,  _I_  know. That’s not what you  _meant_. You were just trying to be  _funny_. At my expense. To score points off the fat girl. Which, fair enough, easy to do. But those are cheap points, Stacey. And, what you  _also_  don’t know, is that I went shopping yesterday. So these wounds you’re salting are FRESH. Gaping and RAW.”

“What are y—“

Rae had started, so she had to finish. Rae didn’t want to just burn this bridge, she wanted to firebomb it. “When  _you_  go to the store, you have the whole place at your disposal. The world is your fucking OYSTER, Stacey. Sure, one or two things might not be in stock in your size, but there are plenty of things to console yourself with.” Rae took a breath and met her gaze. “When I go shopping? There are six racks in the back or in a basement room. Six racks, compared to sixty upstairs for everyone else. And what,  _do you think_ , can be found upon those six racks?”

Stacey blinked, seeming afraid to speak, waiting for Rae to continue.

Rae put out a digit for each word, starting with her thumb. “Polyester. Black. Upholsterer’s florals. Black. DOLMAN SLEEVES.” Her other hand came up to count a few more syllables: “BLACK. BLACK. BLACK. Do you even KNOW what a dolman sleeve IS? Of course you fucking don’t. Because you have trim little toned little upper arms and aren’t required to SHROUD THEM IN SWATHS OF FABRIC TO KEEP THEM FROM PUBLIC VIEW!” She found that she was pitched forward across the table, no doubt looking like a major threat to the petite blonde on the other side.

Stacey was leaning way back in her seat now, as if Rae’s words were a gale-force wind blowing straight in her face.

Rae dialed her posture back a little, but continued, venom dripping from her words. “So, if I go to the men’s section to buy a COTTON t-shirt that FITS and BREATHES while at the same time expressing something about me and what I actually like? Well, EXCUSE THE EVER-LIVIN’ FUCK OUT OF ME.” With that, she stood up, swung her backpack and jacket over her shoulder, and gripped her tray, the bottle of water and cup of applesauce trembling with Rae’s rage. “You know what? I’m off to get some chips.” She sighed, and shook her head. “For fuck’s sake.”

She didn’t look behind her, but Stacey was doing exactly what Rae expected her to do, crossing her arms and flouncing with indignation, the shit-talking already begun. Half the cafeteria had probably heard her, but Rae just shrugged like a nervous tic, bypassed the chips, and headed to the library.

As she swept out the door, she didn’t notice a certain freckled ex sitting in the corner, a single earbud dangling down his chest, proud grin plastered across his face.


End file.
